But a Dream
by Helike
Summary: At first, there is a piece of paper that is missing. Then an unexpected guest appears. What will happen next?


**Warnings:** Beware of spoilers. Up-to-date with the manga. A bit of swearing, but nothing to increase the rating to short after chapter 481 came out.

**A/N: **A crack story in which the Creator meets his creation. Written from the Creator's POV. The manga creator. I think you know what I mean.**  
**

**Dedicated** to the gang of Crackodiles.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Naruto, it would be a completely different story.

* * *

**BUT A DREAM**

Every story has its own beginning. This one starts from one missing thing – a little piece of lined paper, somewhat yellowed and frayed at the edges. It looked so plain that at first glance you'd never say that such a thing could have any value, and indeed, it's not the piece of paper that was the most valuable, but a few lines of a text, scribbled on it with my barely legible handwriting.

This text – my notes – is something that every fan would be eager to sell a half of his soul for – or even more than just a half. Why? Because I outlined in it the plot of my story. Yes, _this_ story – you know it well and quite many of you wait for it impatiently every Friday. See? I know everything. Even about you reading the newest chapters on the net, where I definitely haven't posted them. But never mind. My point is that that piece of paper is missing. Only yesterday did I leave it on the desk, but today it's nowhere to be found.

I look around helplessly. My glance moves here and there, sliding over the desk and the bookcase, and I scratch my head, trying to imagine where else I could put these notes. C'mon... they just didn't vanish into thin air, did they?

Usually, it's not that difficult for me to find something here, even though there are tons of paper _everywhere_ – no exaggeration here, as paper is lying in large piles on the floor and stuffing the bookcase. Yet the clutter doesn't bother me; not that much at least. There is a narrow passage among the heaps of paper sheets, from the door to my desk, and I always know where every single sheet of paper lies. Well... except for this missing one, but it's the first time it has ever happened, okay?

For a short while my eyes rest on a pile of papers in the most distant corner of the room and a shiver goes down through me. I could swear that it seems darker than the rest of the room. Actually, it's almost as if darkness gathered in that particular place, taking some almost-material shape. There is even a short while when it feels as if something or someone was observing me from there. It shouldn't come as a surprise that another shiver goes down by my spine, right? Imagination, I know. Some illusion caused by the play of lights and shadows. Overworking, lack of sleep – put whatever you want here.

I rub my throbbing temples and close my eyes. Call me a child, but I'm not going to look in that side again.

Ok, enough of fooling around, time to go back to looking for the notes. Here goes the most complicated part – I should think of every place where I could possibly put them. All these piles of paper on the floor look like a somewhat plausible location, but who on earth would put anything there? Not me, for sure. My wife? She hardly visits this place, coming with a mug of tea or some snacks from time to time, and she _never_ moves any of the things I've stuffed here. At least not after the argument we once had.

With a weary sigh I decide that the notes are lost for good. There is only one thing I can do now. With a pencil in one hand and a piece of paper in the other one, I sit down by the able, intending to write down my notes again. It's going be a piece of cake, I believe. After all you don't just forget the greatest ideas you've ever had.

Ok, maybe you do. I stare blankly at the sheet of paper, trying to remember something, and... nothing comes to my mind obviously. What a day! First the missing notes, now the writer's block. What will happen next, I wonder.

I pout a bit, and then... a miracle happens – my inspiration is back! She urges me to write, gives no time to think or wonder. My hand moves by itself, and I write and write, cross out and write again, trying to catch all these words that flow and write them down on the sheet of paper. It's almost as if some magic worked here.

How long have I been writing? I have no idea, to be honest, but finally the last words is written down and I lean back in the chair. A confident smile spreads across my face as I look at my notes. Honestly, now that's really the best idea I've ever had, forget the previous one. My editor will love it, I'm sure of it. As for the fans... I frown. I'm sure that some will complain about the plot, just as they usually do, but soon they realise that's the only way in which the story should be continued. A few more years of fun. What fan could complain about it? And no, it doesn't really resemble Star Wars that much, as some of you might claim. Or any other story. Or maybe it does, but only just a bit, I swear.

I stretch my hands and stand up to pick up a notebook with my drawings. Now, that I have the outline of the story, I can make some sketches. Then go the names. My editor will skin me alive if I don't hand them tomorrow. But hey, there is the whole night ahead of me! I can do it. I know I can.

With the notebook in my hand, I turn back to the desk and... my jaw drops. The notebook slips from my hand and with a quiet thud lands on a pile of papers. In shock, I stare at the desk.

The notes are not there.

THE NOTES ARE NOT WHERE I LEFT THEM.

I rub my eyes and stare at the desk again. I even close my eyes, hoping it's but a dream, but when I open them, the papers still are not there. They're gone.

Oh no, not again.

"Am I dreaming or did I go insane?" I can't help but express my frustration with words. I don't really expect the answer, but, unexpectedly I get one.

"Neither are you dreaming nor are you insane." A calm, quiet reply comes from behind my back all of a sudden. "Although I have some doubts when it comes to the second part."

I almost jump and turn around quickly. Too quickly, apparently, as I slip on some papers and with a loud thud I sit down among them. I don't really feel any pain, however, as all my thoughts are focused on the young man standing in front of me. One glance at his face and I'm starting to believe that something terribly wrong is going on here.

"Who... who... are you and how did you get here?!" I manage to squeak.

"Shouldn't you know who I am?" My unexpected guest tilts his head. A pair of the red eyes stares at me, no emotion in them. "You created me."

Sure I know who he looks like. Spiky dark hair, pale skin, red eyes – narrowed and filled with anger – a white shirt, a purple rope around his waist, dark pants and that skirt-like thing... Say what you want, I can see Sasuke Uchiha standing in front of me. The best proof that I _have_ gone insane.

"But it's impossible! You can't be _him_!" I try to oppose and deny what I see.

"Can't I?" My guest – I refuse to admit that one of my characters is indeed standing in front of me – only smirks in the reply.

"You are but a dream. A hallucination." I shake my head. C'mon, there is no way that Sasuke, or any other of my characters as we are on the subject, would appear here.

"A dream? Some hallucination?" A wicked smile plays across Sasuke's face. "Would a hallucination do this?"

He moves and pushes one of the piles. It shakes and falls apart, sheets of paper scatter all around.

I pale. And then my heart stops. Literally.

Somewhere in that pile I hid a few sheets of paper, hoping that no one would find them. If ever published, they would definitely increase the rating (to MA, I bet) and change the genre of the story, to fierce joy of all these fans believing that Sasuke prefers men. But even these fans could be not quite pleased with the choice of the characters. Maybe I could avoid accusations of creating a self-insert and fans would forget about it and forgive me one day, but you know what? I'd rather not check Sasuke's reaction if he ever finds out about the sketches and see himself in them. Some things should be kept in secret forever.

But wait... My glance slides over Sasuke's frame. If he could touch those papers, maybe I could touch him... Just a bit... Or maybe more than a bit...

"Whatever you're thinking about, I suggest you stop." Sasuke's voice is so cold that I almost can feel how the temperature in the room drops. "I don't like this look on your face."

Oh... Erm... Okay. I do my best to pretend that nothing happened, but blood rushes to my face, making it completely red. I look away.

I clear my throat. "So what brings you here?" I try to make my voice sound as normal as possible. I almost succeed; unfortunately it somewhat breaks when I say the last word.

"This." Sasuke shows me what he holds in his hand.

I blink. Wait, isn't...

"My notes!" I exclaim.

The old ones together with the one I wrote today. I move my eyes to his face.

"So it was you..." I glare at him.

"Somebody had to stop this insanity." Sasuke replies and glares back. "Is it what you call a good story?"

I stare at him blankly. Which part of it does he dislike? What's so bad about people turning evil and then fighting their best friends? Or maybe he doesn't like the idea of him losing in the end and barely surviving only to be back after years. Or what Karin did to him when he was unconscious in the other dimension to which Madara sent them and that child of theirs that pops up later, proving that in the end he wasn't able to kill her. It could end with such a wonderful "I'm your father" scene, so why is he so against it? Personally, I found the scene great, Sasuke, however, seems to have some different opinion on the subject.

I dare to glance at him. Little emotion does he show on his face, except for disgust that twists his lips, but his eyes speak volumes, burning with anger. Even his aura darkens – I could swear it starts to dim the light of the lamp.

My mouth dries all of a sudden. I have to swallow before I can say anything.

"What... what do you want?" I finally dare to ask him.

"Revenge." Sasuke replies in a clam, cold voice. His eyes gleam red, his lips curve in a parody of a smile. His face twists into some demonic mask. What is even more strange, darkness gathers around him, wrapping around his body like a strange cloak. "I want revenge on everyone that made my life so miserable."

The reply sends quite a few shivers down my spine.

"Re... Revenge?" My voice sounds like a squeak. If he wants revenge for that, doesn't it place me at the top of his list in that case? I'm the one who tells the characters what they are to do... Oh crap, it seems that I'm as good as dead.

"Shall I remind you that you're the one that made me an avenger?" Sasuke drawls; his eyes bore through me.

I shake my head.

"T... then... w... what... d... do y... you w...want from m... me?" Oh, damned should be the stammering.

Sasuke eyes me. The darkness around him thickens.

"Naruto," he says bluntly.

"What?!" I gape at him. Naruto of all things?

"Give me Naruto," Sasuke repeats. All emotions disappear from his face, but his eyes light up with some feeling that I neither can nor want to identify. "I'll wake up the beast inside of him. He'll become a perfect tool of my revenge."

Oh, will he? Sasuke seems to forget about one not so quite unimportant detail.

"What if he brings you back to the light first?" I dare to ask.

Sasuke glares at me; if the look could kill, I would be dead already.

"It won't work at me," he claims.

Oh, sure it won't. Keep telling that yourself, darling. Naruto's charm worked even on your big brother, no matter what he would claim, and I'm pretty sure that it would work on Madara, too, if the boy ever got a chance to try. But if any of my characters want to seal their own fate in such a way, am I the one to stop them?

I ponder on the idea Sasuke mentioned. See, I can see some logic here. I also realise that his plan is not that bad. Actually it's quite good and it could satisfy both sides – my editor and fans (or at least most of the fans). However, I don't really like it when somebody tries to force me to do what they want. Unless that person is my editor, but I know no one who would be eager to disobey that man.

"Why should I agree?"

"You owe me that." Sasuke's eyes narrow. "You made Pain destroy Konoha before I could do that. He killed almost everyone there."

"Hey, not everyone!" I object. "And I did bring them all back!"

Oooops, failed try. Instead of calming Sasuke down, the statement actually seems to make him more annoyed.

"Remember that I gave you Danzou on a silver plate." I try once again.

Sasuke just stares at me. "It's not enough. You've already killed the Third."

"I... I think I could bring him back..." I offer quickly. There still is Kabutomaru and it's possible that he knows the forbidden jutsu that Orochimaru used. If not, I'll make the man learn it. Piece of cake.

"It's not the same!" Sasuke seems angered.

True, but what else can I offer you now?

"I only want Naruto. For my revenge." Sasuke declares after a while, his voice clam and cold again, but his eyes flash. "Then you can do whatever you want as long as it's not what you wrote here." He shakes the hand in which he holds the sheets of paper with my notes. "And no lame 'I'll bring everybody back' thing again. It has to be something great, shaking..." Sasuke gives me a baleful glare.

Oh, great, isn't it? Am I to kill everyone to make this boy feel satisfied? At this rate my editor might not like it, I swear. Not to mention the fans. I created a monster, now I can see it clearly. And you know what? I'm starting to be afraid.

"And what if I don't agree?" The words roll off my tongue before I can stop them and I give Sasuke a challenging look; my common sense has evidently left me. Where does that cocky attitude of mine come from? Sometimes I actually scare myself.

Sasuke doesn't answer; his eyes focus on me. Hypnotized, I watch his Sharingan change the shape. Yes, now I am scared. I know the best what he can do and what he can't, yet I can't avert my eyes, even though I know I should.

Something happens. The whole room plunges into darkness, time and space disappear. Sasuke raises his hand, blood starts to drip from his eye. And then, all of a sudden, a black flame appears, devouring sheets of paper in Sasuke's hand. He shoots me one more glance, that twisted smile curves his lips again and then everything – flames, darkness and Sasuke – disappears without any trace.

For quite a while I stare blankly at the floor covered with sheets of paper. Was it all a dream? It must have been, right? I was tired and fell asleep without even realising it. I try to laugh, but it sounds forced. I dare to look at the piles of paper, but all of then seem to be in their right place. I even peer at that distant corner of the room and you know what? No darkness there. I knew it. It was but a dream.

I feel relieved.

I should finally finish the story, I think. I could even use some ideas from the dream and give Sasuke what he wants and even more, as Naruto would obviously do his best, trying to bring Sasuke back and I wouldn't even try to stop him. That would be the end, a beautiful one, with redemption and hope for the whole world changing for better. Then I could move to a new story, with no avenger running around and quite normal characters for a change. Maybe I could also change the genre? What about Fantasy? Or... I have some great idea – I'll write about a mangaka who one day is visited by one of his characters. That would be something and, if I'm lucky, no one has thought about it before. Except for all these SasuKishi fangirls, that's it. I have no idea how on earth these girls managed to dig up what I tried to hide so well. Oh well... Shit happens.

With a weary sigh I stand up, intending to work on my current story again. I turn to the desk and my heart stops. Next to a small heap of ashes one piece of paper is left. I feel week in my knees when I read what's written on it.

_I'll be back._

_

* * *

_**THE END**


End file.
